Title: One with the Gun
Rating: R (for language and violence)
Word Count: ~1100
Characters: Garrus (plus an OC of mine)
Summary: Garrus wonders - not for the first time - if being here, doing what he does? Dealing out his own version of justice? If it really is any better than murder.
Author's Notes: This is a response to a prompt over at me_challenge on LJ. The prompt was: "Good. Bad. I'm the one with the gun." (A variation on a most awesome 'Army of Darkness' quote. How could I possibly resist? The answer is that I couldn't.) Slightly revised for posting here. Hope you like!
One with the Gun
Fifteen hours.
Three weeks, nine days, and fifteen hours. That was how long it took for Garrus and his team to locate this bastard. Dexter Loman. A nasty piece of work by all counts, even for a pimp on Omega. Had a real...knack for roughing up his girls in ways that didn't show to the customers., but left them plenty scarred.
Too bad for Loman, he'd made the mistake of messing with one of Aria's underlings. The girl talked, and Aria - well, as she so often said, Aria is Omega. And she didn't take kindly to learning what had been going on under her nose. Garrus may not have normally taken orders from the Queen of Omega, but this was one time that he was more than happy to oblige.
Now, after all of that research and hunting, greasing the palms of people he'd sooner airlock than deal with face-to-face; he finally has him. Whimpering on his hands and knees. Spitting out blood with each hacking cough. Probably courtesy of a ruptured spleen gifted to him by the boot of Krul. (Damn, was Garrus glad he had a krogan on the team.)
And as Garrus looks into his face, he realizes that the bastard is nothing more than some snot-nosed kid playing at being a psychopath. What the hell is wrong with this shit-hole space station?
Still, it doesn't matter. Garrus has seen the evidence. Spirits, three of this asshole's former 'employees' are currently recuperating back at base, and there's another half-dozen being shipped off Omega in bags. There's no way that Garrus is gonna let him walk, not after he's seen the kind of damage that he can do. No matter how young he may seem.
He's old enough to be an abusive, murdering waste of flesh. That's all Garrus needs to know. Garrus stows away his rifle, and palms his pistol as he crosses the distance to the man (boy), and on an inhale presses the gun to Loman's head.
That's when the pleading starts.
"No. No no no. Please, please! Don't shoot, don't shoot! I- I have money. And contacts. Information that you'll want. We can make a deal! I can make it worth your while. Just- just don't shoot me."
Pathetic. "Somehow I doubt that." But shit, what can it hurt to hear him out before he kills him? Garrus doesn't lower the gun, but he doesn't fire it either, and Loman takes that as the invitation it almost is, looking up at Garrus with watery, red-rimmed eyes.
"You're Archangel, right?"
"So they tell me. And you're Dexter Loman."
Loman swallows. Reaches up with a dirty fist to wipe at a bit of bloodied saliva trailing down his chin. "You've got - you've got quite a reputation, Archangel."
Garrus presses the gun harder into Loman's forehead. "So do you. Now, you said something about information?"
Loman nods his head vigorously, still looking as weak as a day old pyjak, but Garrus doesn't miss the way that his eyes sharpen. Doesn't miss the way the skin at the corner of his mouth tightens, like he's fighting back a smile. And Garrus knows that whatever comes out of his mouth is just meant as a distraction.
The stories the girls have told paint Loman as some master manipulator. How the hell else could he convince them to stick around for more of his special brand of so-called 'protection'? So it makes sense that Loman thinks he has him. Thinks he's gonna sweet-talk Archangel and walk away.
Garrus lets him live with the illusion for a few seconds.
But the more he babbles on about shit Garrus already knows, and things that are of no importance to him, the more of Garrus' patience erodes away, until he regrets giving the bastard any leeway to speak. It's not worth the headache.
Loman must realize he's lost him, or maybe he just hears the angry growl that Garrus can't hold in. Whatever the reason, he gives up on playing the weakling with info, and tries a different approach. Hardening his features, and straightening his spine.
"So what, you're just gonna, just gonna kill me? I ain't done shit to you, man! I stayed outta your way. I knew you were on Omega. And I could've made life real hard on you. The stuff I hear in my line of work? Real. Hard. But I figure so long as you left me alone, I'd leave you alone.
"But you and your gang - you come in here, you come in here and mess my whole operation up. Steal my girls. For what? You planning to use 'em yourself? Is that it, Archangel? You think you're so much better than the rest of us? Huh? You eat and shit and kill the same as us. What makes you so special? You gonna kill me? Who says that you get to decide what's right and wrong?"
"No one. But somebody has to, might as well be me."
"Fuck that. Fuck. That. You ain't no better than me. You think you're so goddamn goodbecause they call you 'Archangel' huh? Well you know what they call people who shoot people where I come from? A murderer. Near as I can tell, that makes you just as bad as me."
Garrus knows it's a load of crap. Knows deep down, that he is nothing like this scum. This boy that calls himself a man, who drugs and rapes women for sport. Does things to them that Garrus doesn't even want to contemplate. He knows this.
But for a moment, just a second, his certainty wavers. Not because he thinks Loman deserves to live - never that. But because he wonders - not for the first time - if being here, doing what he does? Dealing out his own version of justice? If it really is any better than murder. It's certain that most everyone he knew during his C-Sec days would say that it's not. That he really is just as bad as the rest of the criminals on this Spirit forsaken rock.
It's during that second of hesitant contemplation, that Loman makes his move, one of his hands having dug a grenade of all things from out of his pants. What the hell he's hoping to accomplish with that, Garrus has no idea; and he puts a bullet between the psychopath's eyes before any of them can ever find out.
The body falls backward to the ground with a moist thud. The grenade - freed from his grip - rolls away to knock on Krul's boots. The krogan picks the thing up, tosses it in the air, and then pockets it with a snort of what could be thanks. Garrus watches it all impassively before turning his gaze back to the body at his feet. Staring at it, he feels resolve thicken his blood.
Maybe what he's doing here on Omega is criminal to some. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that he's making a difference where it counts.
He thinks Shepard would be proud.
"Good, bad, I'm the one with the gun."
~End